


A Fate Unknown

by 0neType, LyraLV



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Coercion, Eggs, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fae Magic, Forced Bonding, Forced Pregnancy, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Oviposition, Sibling Incest, Total Disregard for Cross' Personal Space, Undertale Multiverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/pseuds/LyraLV
Summary: Leaving his old life behind, Cross meets two beautiful strangers who sweep him off his feet.Things go downhill from there.
Relationships: Cream - Relationship, CreamMare - Relationship, Cross/Dream, Cross/Killer, CrossMare - Relationship, DreamMare - Relationship, Kross - Relationship, Nightmare/Cross, Nightmare/Cross/Dream, Nightmare/Dream, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 23
Kudos: 205





	A Fate Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Apple Seeds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24035572) by [Raithwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raithwin/pseuds/Raithwin). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HELLO!
> 
> To celebrate the anniversary of Lyra and I first DMing each other, we've started a new KCRM fic! 🎉 All our gratitude to Raithwin for giving us permission to expand on the idea in their fic Apple Seeds (linked above) and make everything twice as traumatic for Cross hehehe 😌👌
> 
> Going forward, please note that if you're coming here with only ATOS as prior experience, this fic gets a _hell_ of a lot darker than anything contained therein. We've used the "Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings" marker for this fic, but that doesn't mean that those warnings _don't_ apply or come close to applying. We will give appropriate warnings in the end notes of all chapters that need them, but we advise caution going forward if you have serious triggers and/or issues with dark fic contents.
> 
> There are some general but **SPOILER-Y** warnings we think are important to give right from the start for anyone who needs them, so if you'd like to know more about just what you're getting into, please read the end note for more information.
> 
> **ALL THAT SAID!!**
> 
> We're really excited to share what we've worked on, so for those of you sticking around for this, we hope you enjoy!! :"D

The sun is just arching directly overhead when Cross finds the town.

Small and innocuous amid sprawling hills, it’s unremarkable and nothing to write home about—though he hasn’t been sending any letters to his family as of late. The news still weighs heavy upon his shoulders, and Cross bitterly shrugs the intrusive thoughts off before he can spiral deeper into his depressive state. He eyes the terrain, trying to determine whether he should continue longer on foot or make a quick stop to eat. The gold he took with him has since dwindled down to just a few coins, and Cross knows he’s going to have to find a way to either earn more money to fend for himself or just work for food. Neither option sounds particularly appealing.

As someone who was born into a prosperous family, Cross knows his life has been far more privileged than most. He’d received an astounding education, learned how to fight under the tutelage of some of the most skilled masters, and everything from his home to his food to his clothes have all been marks of the wealthy. In the public’s eye, he should have nothing to complain about since luxury has played the predominant part of his entire upbringing.

But Cross has always done all he can not to let money control his mindset. There’s something priceless in this world that he’s always valued above everything else, and that’s his family.

Papyrus… His little brother’s tearful gaze appears in his mind’s eye, the last image of him he saw before Cross turned on his heel and left home.

It didn’t feel like a home anymore—not after his father’s betrayal. The stone cold anger Cross has felt since finding out the truth hardens his soul. Leaving behind Papyrus had been the greatest trial he’d ever had to endure, but Cross knows deep within his marrow that he’s made the right choice. He can’t stay, and he would’ve urged his brother to consider leaving as well had he’d known for certain that Papyrus could handle cutting ties. Unfortunately, both of them are more than aware that’s not the case, and Cross has come to a thin acceptance of it.

Thinking about his little brother burns like a fresh wound, so Cross does what he’s always done best and buries his emotions behind a resolved face, shoulders straight as he considers his options and firmly ignores any other thoughts of his family.

As the sun shines overhead, Cross wipes a hand across his skull. His cloak, made of a heavier material, is a bit too harsh for the dying summer weather, but it won’t be long before fall approaches. Better to suffer a little mild inconvenience now than to scrounge for a solution by the time winter arrives.

Nonetheless, the heat of the noonday sun clings to his body, and sweat quickly becomes part of his clothing. With a hazy blink, Cross looks from the yawning countryside back to the town only about a mile away. He sighs and begins to head towards the small cluster of buildings. Perhaps someone will spare him a little water to refill his flask.

His heels dig into the dirt path as he treads along. The boots he’s worn since the beginning of his journey feel too small and stiff now, and Cross entertains not for the first time the possibility of just trekking along barefoot. More than anything, he wants to disrobe and soak in a long refreshing bath. If he finds an inn to stay at, it’ll be the first thing he does. After securing tonight’s dinner, of course.

As the distance between him and the town grows short, its appearance comes into focus like dawning clarity. Surrounding and stretching beyond the town, a flush forest blooms. It seems to cradle the town in its enormity, and Cross doesn’t realize he’s distracted with his staring until his boot catches against a stone. He manages to not fall and embarrass himself, though the only ones that’d be around to witness such a scene are the vegetation and wildlife.

There’s something in the air that feels… different. Unlike anything Cross has experienced during his journey. He tightens the hold on his cloak as he scans his surroundings, brow furrowed. For a moment, he considers summoning one of his daggers to have at the ready. If there are any bandits around, he wants to have a fair chance. But at the same time, if there’s a lookout in the nearing town, Cross doesn’t want to appear threatening either. No easier way to ensure no one talks to him or offers a room for the night.

Deciding to forgo his weapon for now, Cross takes a long breath and focuses on his looming destination.

The town looks quaint, sparsely populated but busy enough to keep life within it afloat. Cross pauses just outside of its border. He notes with surprise that there’s no protection around the town like he’s seen with most other places. Raids are not uncommon when thieves lurk about, searching for an easy target to pillage. This town almost seems to boast its lack of a strong fence. Cross stares at the unguarded borders with pity and sighs as his plans to linger seem less likely.

Though… He is rather adept with his swords. If the townsfolk seem to be well and unhindered, perhaps he will take his chances in exchange for a hopefully decent night of sleep.

Filled with resolve, Cross shifts the cloak on his shoulders and enters the town.

In one step, a strange sensation crawls over him, like passing through a wall of water. He expects resistance of some kind, but just as quickly as the feeling comes, it passes. Cross blinks and stares at his hand. For some strange reason, he’s almost expecting it to be dripping with… something. A viscous fluid of some sort that’s otherworldly in every way and cannot be seen or comprehended by mortals’ eyes.

Nothing covers his bones.

Frowning, Cross turns to glance back at where he came from, but a sudden cacophony of noise startles him. From deep within the woods, a murder takes flight, the numerous cries and caws a grating sound. Now on edge, Cross slowly looks away from the cloud of black birds and redirects his attention back to the town.

He’s filled with a grim sort of resolution, refusing to be beaten down by the ominous feeling looming over him. He knows what this really is; a fear of being on his own for the first time. His inexperience is making him uneasy, nothing more. He has to remind himself that he’s more than capable of making it on his own. While his father kept him fairly separated from the usual going-ons of common folk, Cross wouldn’t go as far as to call himself sheltered.

Staying firm in his resolve, he steels himself and takes a few steps forward.

He hardly walks two feet before someone bumps into him, jostling his shoulder.

“Hey, watch it,” Cross grunts, catching his balance quickly.

The person mumbles a muted apology and continues onwards, too quick for Cross to call out to them or see past their cloaked visage. As they walk away, a sense of dread overcomes him. With a lurch of suspicion, he quickly checks his pockets, certain that they must be a thief out to take what little he has. He pats himself down, but it quickly becomes evident that they’ve stolen nothing.

There’s a moment of cool relief before Cross frowns. His soul sinks as he considers his behaviour, so quick to judge when he’s only just arrived here.

He’s barely been away from home a handful of days, and he’s already paranoid.

Shaking his head and clapping his face between his hands to clear his thoughts, Cross sighs and tries again. He refuses to let his wariness stop him from experiencing the world that his father had kept him from. Instead, he strides forwards with purpose, head held high.

Sure enough, things fall smoothly in line, proving to Cross that it’s only his own mental hang-ups giving him that queasy, restless feeling. A young couple walks past him, smiling as they do; an old man and his son chat fervently over the table set next to the carpenter’s shop; three small children run and laugh and play, zigzagging around him with not a care in the world.

All normal. All safe.

Cross distracts himself in watching the crowds and slowly, bit by bit, the anxiety drains from him.

It’s entrancing really, the hustle and bustle of a small town like this. He’s no city-goer himself, but living in his father’s estate his whole life has left him with a gap in knowledge when it comes to the regular day-to-day of monsterkind. Cross smiles at the people interacting and walks over to the side of a nearby building, leaning against it for support. He folds his arms over his chest and continues to watch the scene all around him, taking it in and letting it soothe him.

In the distance, the sound of braying can be heard. A trough trickles with running water on the other side of the dirt path. Gentle chimes dance on the breeze next to what might be a storefront as a monster sweeps dirt out of the building. Chatter and rolling laughter flows through the air, and Cross revels in the normalcy of it all.

He’s finally feeling loose-limbed and at ease before someone taps him on the shoulder. He jolts, startled and then confused by being startled. He didn’t come this far in his training to be taken unaware of people sneaking up on him. Though, ‘sneaking’ doesn’t seem quite the right word to describe the kindly woman looking at him now.

“Whoa there, stranger,” she says, her whiskers twitching in good humour, “I mean no harm. I’m just wonderin’ how long you plan on standin’ there and watching people mill about?”

“Oh, I...” Cross starts, only to realise that the sun has begun to set. He frowns. That can’t be right. There’s no way he’s been standing here for hours. If he had, there’d be obvious signs of it—a strain in his legs or hunger from having gone the whole day without food.

There’s a fuzzy feeling in his head as he tries to make sense of it all, browbones furrowing in consternation. He’d been so sure the sun had only just been overhead when he’d arrived here. Had he been mistaken? It’s the only logical explanation but… how could he have miscalculated the time of day so badly upon arrival? Is he just fatigued from travel?

The woman gives him a knowing look. “You’re unwell. Pro’lly haven’t had a sip of water since you set out, have you?”

Cross flushes, embarrassed as the reason for his confusion clicks into place. Of course. He’s a fool to have forgotten something so basic.

“Ah. Yes, I suppose so...”

“You youngins are all the same,” she sighs, hands on her hips as she launches into a scolding that seems second-nature to her. It’s enough to make Cross’ mouth twitch with the beginnings of a smile despite the slowly growing pounding in his head. “My son was just like you. Always runnin’ off on adventures to lord knows where without a thought in his head about provisions. And who did he end up crawlin’ home to with his tail between his legs at the first sign of a headache? Well I’ll tell ya who! His mama of course!”

Cross chuckles, and the woman cracks a smile at him, tilting her head softly. “Come now. You look like you could use a bed to rest in.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Cross starts, but the woman holds up her hands.

“Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. It ain’t often we get visitors. ‘Specially none as handsome as you.” She winks at him and yet again Cross feels the flush creep up his neck. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll be putting me out of a bed—I run the local inn.”

“Oh! In that case, yes, that would be lovely.”

“You’re darn right it would,” she says, nodding her head firmly before turning on her heels and beckoning Cross to follow after her. He does so without hesitation, though he looks over his shoulder one last time before he goes.

In the distance, the sun sinks slowly over the horizon, the sky a pretty pink-gold. He turns back around.

“Forgive me but, how much does it cost to stay the night?”

He’s already thinking up what services he can provide in case the few coins he has left aren’t sufficient when she waves her hand at him. “Don’t you worry about it. You’re our guest.”

Bewildered, Cross says, “But... you run an inn.” If she’s giving out free beds like this, how on earth does she plan to make money?

“You’re being taken care of,” she replies, voice light and unbothered, “Our patrons insist.”

“Patrons?”

Beyond a hum to acknowledge that she’s heard him, the woman elaborates no further.

He frowns at the insinuation in the woman’s words. Cross is no charity case—he doesn’t need the help of some random strangers to get by. It only invites them to get close to him and his history. By no means is he keen on sharing private details with anyone simply because he’s indebted to them in some way.

Just as he’s about to protest, the woman calls out to a young monster ahead of her.

“Go set up a room for this handsome skeleton, ya hear? Make sure there’s a fresh glass of water by his bedside too.”

The boy, presumably the son she mentioned earlier, nods and dashes off into a building, throwing Cross a surreptitious look as he does so. The curiosity brings back some of Cross’ earlier unease. In fact, as he and the woman approach the building her son darted into, he notices that more and more stares are being cast his way, just as hastily retracted when he meets them head-on. Everyone in this town seems to be taking a peculiar interest in Cross, like they know something he doesn’t. These people haven’t done anything to provoke him in any way, and Cross usually isn’t one to assume the worst of anyone, but...

He hates the feeling of being watched.

“Don’t mind them,” a voice calls from his side, and for the second time that day, Cross startles at the sudden closeness of the woman. She smiles apologetically up at him. “We don’t get too many visitors ’round here these days. Most folks are too busy to travel this time of year. You’re the most entertainment we’ve gotten in about a month.”

Cross eyes her sidelong. “Entertainment?”

She nods and then winces. “Sorry, that wasn’t meant to sound so objectifying. It’s just that our patrons don’t often take an interest in anyone these days. Something must’ve put ’em in a good mood.”

“Oh, really? Are your patrons anywhere nearby perchance? I’d like to know to whom I owe my gratitude,” Cross says, interest piqued.

They reach the doors of the building, and the woman kindly holds one open for him.

“If you’d like to meet them, they’re just inside. I’d be warned though—they’re mighty intense to chat with.”

“I think I can carry a simple conversation,” he replies, stepping into the dim interior.

As soon as he says the words, he winces. That had sounded almost too much like his father, arrogance slipping into his words. Cross readies an apology on his tongue. Just moments ago, he had felt completely at ease, if only a little disoriented, but as he enters the building, the pounding in his skull increases. It’s more intense now than earlier, a thick sludge over his thoughts that leaves him with slightly less care of how he speaks. It’s hard to say if his father would be disappointed or pleased.

Cross firmly ignores that last thought.

To his surprise, the woman doesn’t show any hurt at his tone. She lets out an airy laugh, closing the door shut behind her and stepping around Cross. “Ain’t nothing simple about these folks,” she says, smiling knowingly as she continues on into the room, beckoning him to follow. “You’ll see.”

Inside, the room is lit by sleepy sunlight through the windows and an array of sconces along the walls. It’s a fairly large space, the hall filled with people sitting at wooden tables, eating, drinking, and quietly talking. Far from the common boisterous atmosphere Cross is used to experiencing. Even here, as he walks past the clustered groups of monsters, eyes follow his every move, tracking him all the way through the room and into the doorway of another. He’s tempted to inconspicuously summon a dagger and keep it concealed in his cloak. His hand certainly itches to hold something at the ready.

But as he watches the others watch him, he senses no hostility in their gazes. It’s uncomfortable and weird, but some of them almost appear... sympathetic.

Cross dislikes it even more. A murderous expression he knows how to combat. These are people showing pity for someone they’ve never even met.

Do they know that the innkeeper has brought him here for free lodging? Is following after her like this something that signals as much? Are they looking at him in his fancy clothes dirtied from travel and gossiping about what could make a man of his standard fall from grace? Do their patrons regularly take on outcasts like him?

Before Cross can think on the strangeness too hard, the drumming in skull sharpens, a painful force of pressure that chases the thoughts out of his mind. He grinds his palm against his forehead.

“Ugh...”

“We’ll get you that water soon, sweetie, don’t you worry,” the innkeeper says, her voice guiding Cross into a smaller room. He looks up through wavering vision and sees that they’re in a kitchen, a large table in the middle of the room with a few people bustling about near steaming pots over a large fire.

The woman turns to smile in that same pitying way the other monsters have been doing. Cross breathes out thickly.

“Why don’t ya have a seat on that bench over there while I go fetch a pitcher of water? You’re looking a little pale, even for someone like yourself.”

“I’ll stand here.” Cross forces the words out. Everything within him is crying for the relief of sitting and resting, but he can’t just drop his guard yet. This whole town sets him on edge.

The woman frowns uncertainly. “The patrons said to take care of ya, but if you insist...”

Cross nods, and the room swims. “I insist.”

He feels like he might pass out right here.

“Well, alright then. I’ll be back as quick as a flash! You just make yourself comfortable.”

The words hardly register, but when Cross blinks again, the woman’s gone. Now that he’s no longer confined to conversation and maintaining appearances, the extent of his nervousness and sickly symptoms becomes more prominent. The kitchen is a sweltering place, heat from the fire and the busy bodies causing sweat to run down his skull. His cloak continues to weigh him down, and Cross is starkly aware of every breath he pushes through his chest.

The murkiness of his mind has grown thicker. He rolls his shoulders and shifts his feet to try to awaken some feeling in them, but despite the sheer temperature of the room, Cross feels a cold chill overtake his body. It’s an unpleasantly damp feeling—one that’s discouragingly familiar from all the times he’s ever gotten violently ill. His head is too heavy, and the floorboards at his feet swirl in a dizzying pattern. His stomach rolls even though he’s not eaten a thing almost all day. Stars shine in his vision, and before Cross fully notices it, they cover everything he sees in a dark, endless canvas of empty black.

A hand presses against his chest, startling him. He shudders all over as the sensation jars him with feeling. Blinking furiously, he sees that the ground is closer than he’d imagined.

Another hand wraps gently around his shoulder and with surprising ease, pushes lightly up and shifts Cross’ heavy weight back onto his own feet. Distantly, he realizes he almost fainted.

“Easy there, stranger,” a low voice croons. “Just lean against the wall and breathe for a bit.”

Cross doesn’t think to challenge the soft command, his body already moving to acquiesce the person’s words. The hands on him don’t leave, making sure he safely reclines against the wall and doesn’t take another hazardous tumble. Slowly, Cross breathes and sees the stars in his eyes shrink to fuzzy pinpricks and then vanish along with the darkness. His stomach stops churning, and the cold sweat he’d felt all over recedes, replaced with an inviting warmth that makes him shiver.

His sudden switch from feeling sick to well again is abnormally fast. He groans and lolls his head against the wall, shutting his eyes and furrowing his brow.

“What did—” he croaks out, voice dry and then tries again. “What did you do to me? Are you... a healer?”

It’s the only explanation he can fathom. Luckily, the other person seems to hear him.

“Ah. Why, yes. I am,” the voice responds, a bit stilted but still sounding so achingly soft. Cross wants to follow that voice wherever it goes so that he might listen to it forever. It continues, “I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Most are not able to deduce my healing magic quite so quickly.”

“My brother... he’s one too,” Cross slurs, feeling an odd need to explain himself before he can regret sharing any personal information. After a moment’s consideration, he decides it doesn’t really matter if the stranger with the alluring voice knows or not. Cross owes them his gratitude.

He moves his head again to face the person who graciously caught him. Opening his eyes, Cross is surprised to see both that his vision is completely clear of the earlier distorted image and also that there’s no one in front of him.

A subtle clearing of throat makes him stand upright with an uncertain wince, the hands on his chest and shoulder shifting with him as if to make sure he doesn’t fall again. This time, Cross angles his eyesight just a bit more down.

With a start, he gapes at the lovely face beaming back up at him, a pair of golden eyelights staring into his own and holding him and his breath captive.

“Oh, a brother? How nice. I have one too,” the healer smiles wider at him, their head tilting just the slightest, and their expression a touch bemused. Cross finds himself lost in the curve of their mouth and the subtle golden blush burgeoning on their cheekbones. They’re a skeleton, like him, but Cross has never met someone quite so beautiful. And they _are_ beautiful, unmistakably so. “A twin.”

Beyond just their facial features, even the way they dress is lovely. It’s obvious that they’re someone of importance; the soft fabric draping over them is evidence of as much. Cross isn’t too familiar with the names and makes of all types of clothing, but he’s been around nobility enough to tell something is expensive on sight. Even if it’s a simple shirt, a pale teal with silver-white ascents, the sheen of it speaks to its cost.

“May I have your name?” the stranger asks, soft and alluring. They hold their hand out towards him.

Cross stares at it like a fool for a solid few seconds before his mind jumpstarts. He puts his hand in theirs and shakes it, trying to ignore the shivery feeling that travels up his spine when he touches their cool, unblemished palm to his. He feels like an idiot, getting so flustered over something as simple as a greeting.

“Oh, uh yeah, sure. It’s Cross.”

“Cross,” they repeat with a laugh, and it’s _melodious_. A pretty, tinkling thing that sounds like wind chimes on a cool, spring day. There’s a gleam in their eyes now, a flash of something pleased that makes Cross’ soul flip-flop in his chest. “You may call me Dream. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise,” Cross says, tripping over the syllables.

His head doesn’t ache anymore, but talking with people he’s attracted to has always made him tongue-tied. Dream doesn’t say anything about his obvious awkwardness though, smiling at him, soft and pleasant. Cross can’t help but smile back, staring helplessly at him. It’s only when Dream laughs again and clears his throat pointedly that Cross realises he’s still gripping tight to his hand.

He immediately lets go. “Sorry!”

“It’s not a bother,” Dream says, his warm look drawing Cross in further. “Though perhaps some relaxation would do you some good? Even I can’t restore your rest with just my magic.”

“Uh, sure,” Cross replies, nearly stumbling through his words again. He’s unable to resist a flinch when lithe fingers wrap around his wrist. The gentle touch runs teasingly along the space between his ulna and radius, eliciting a shiver from Cross in response to a sensitive spot he didn’t know he had. Dream turns away, but Cross can see the corner of his impish grin all the same.

“Then perhaps you would benefit from holding my hand a little longer.”

Dream’s fingers slowly glide from his wrist to interlock with his phalanges. As Cross is lightly tugged along by the alluring skeleton, he can’t help but feel grateful that his blush goes unseen by Dream.

“O-ok,” he stammers, internally kicking himself for sounding like such a smitten fool. Dream says nothing, but he squeezes Cross’ hand once.

To Cross’ surprise, Dream leads them out of the kitchen through a backdoor that takes them outside. To his right is an extension of the inn, a yawning doorway that appears to house the stables. Dream steps towards the left, guiding Cross over to a bench pressed up against the side of the inn. He takes a seat, and Cross hesitantly joins him.

Being alone with Dream in contrast to the boisterous, busy indoors feels remarkably different. More… intimate. It doesn’t help that Cross can feel the heat of Dream’s leg pressing against his own, reminding him all the more of his juvenile attraction.

Seemingly oblivious to Cross’ increasing nervousness, Dream teasingly bumps his shoulder against his.

“The noise and heat of so many bodies in one space can often be very overwhelming, hm? This seemed like a much better alternative until you feel better.”

Cross shrugs. “I wasn’t… I mean I feel _fine_ now if you’re concerned. Honestly, whatever you did helped a lot. I truly appreciate it.”

Dream hums, a noise that neither agrees nor disagrees with Cross’ statement. Instead, something else catches his eye.

“Ah, I believe your water is inbound.”

Cross follows his line of sight, and sure enough the innkeeper is approaching them, a heavy glass in hand and a pinched expression wrinkling her face. She stops a few paces in front of their bench, whiskers twitching in what Cross can only guess is a nervous reaction.

Curiously, the innkeeper gives a slight bow of her head.

“Master Dream,” she says, and immediately Cross’ browbones shoot up. The woman continues, “I apologize for leaving our guest alone for such a long period. There was a tussle while I went to fetch some water for him, and the distraction required my aid to quiet things down ag—”

“It’s quite alright, Willa,” Dream smoothly cuts through her hastened apology. “I’ve been taking care of our guest meanwhile and enjoying our time together. He would probably appreciate some water now however.”

“Yes, of course!” She hands Cross the glass, confirming his suspicions that it is indeed water, and Cross graciously takes it from her.

“Thank you.” He aims a hopefully encouraging smile up at her. Willa gives him an anxious one back, looking from him to the water, and Cross takes the hint, drinking deeply. It’s like a balm to his throat, and he can feel himself reclining easier against the bench.

“While you’re out here, you didn’t happen to see my brother wandering about somewhere inside, did you?”

The question reminds Cross of Dream’s earlier mention of a twin, and he casts an intrigued glance at him from the corner of his eye. If Dream’s twin is anything like his brother in manner or appearance, Cross may very well have to excuse himself for the night.

He immediately chastises himself mentally for that thought. He’s not some unrestrained teenager! It would be more than highly inappropriate, not to mention disrespectful.

All the same, the mere possibility of doing such a lewd act fills his face with color, and he quickly takes another deep drink. It’s ridiculous to think about, but almost as if he can sense the heat rushing through Cross, Dream utters a soft laugh under his breath. Cross determinedly ignores the stare that’s heavy on his profile and glowers at the sandy earth instead.

Ignorant to all of this, the innkeeper says, “Yes, sir, I did actually. He passed by me on the way upstairs, asking for which room was being made ready for our guest here.”

That makes Cross lift his head. “Oh,” he says, suddenly remembering the woman’s promise. “Did your son finish setting up the room I’ll be staying in?”

“Hmm?” The innkeeper tilts her head, confused. “My son? Do you mean that young man you saw earlier? That was my nephew, sweetie.”

“Nephew?” Cross can’t help but parrot back. There’s something itching along his spine—a prickle of unease. “You mentioned a son earlier, so I just thought—well, with how similar you both looked…”

The woman titters, hiding her laugh behind a paw. “Oh, goodness, no! My son died years ago,” she says, sounding not at all mournful with her airy voice. It cuts a violent chill right through Cross’ soul. “No, my son went on to see better sights. Must’ve been too boring around here for him.”

Even if Cross were to disregard her disturbingly frank, cheerful words, her tone carries along on a dreamy note. It doesn’t seem at all proper or fitting for the subject, and Cross finds his own damnable curiosity urging him to press her for information despite dreading the answer himself. He’s not sure why, but something about this makes him yearn for some reasonable explanation, even if as a stranger he has no right to it.

“I…” He gapes at her. She doesn’t seem to notice his shock. “What do you m—”

“Cross,” Dream says, and like a rope tethered around his body, Cross turns to face the other skeleton again, unable to ignore him. There’s something pleased in Dream’s expression, like he’s proud Cross obeyed him so readily. It makes the purple flush he can feel on his neck travel further down while his cheekbones burn. He grows only more embarrassed when Dream’s smile shifts into a smirk. “Would you like to see the upstairs where you’ll be sleeping tonight? I’m sure my brother would love to meet you.”

“But…”

Finding a reason to refuse anything the beautiful skeleton next to him suggests is becoming more and more impossible. The concern Cross had felt only a moment ago is slowly ebbing away, calming down along with his beating soul. With the panic dissolving and his thoughts turning clear again, he pauses as he considers the innkeeper’s words.

Maybe it’s just her way of wearing a facade and trying to move on. Cross is no stranger to people from his past preferring to not dwell on the tragedies they’d endured. It was far simpler to pretend that everything was and would be alright as long as they didn’t let heavy emotions weigh them down. He himself has done much the same.

Or rather, _is_ doing the same.

Burying his anger and pain where no one will be able to see it and where Cross himself won’t be able to feel its toll. Hiding behind a blank face has become much more tolerable these days.

So in that sense… Cross gets it. For him to try to dredge up a painful, emotional response from the innkeeper just for the sake of his own reassurance is inexplicably rude. If only his father could see him now.

Cross sighs and lets his worries fade for now. Dream waits patiently for him to collect his thoughts, golden eyelights kind.

“I’d love to meet your brother too,” Cross eventually says. And as Dream’s answering smile shines radiantly, it puts a small, albeit shy one on Cross’ own face.

The innkeeper looks between them with a pleasant, nearly unfocused smile before bowing in Dream’s direction and backing away. Dream doesn’t even notice her go, his gaze solely on Cross in a way that makes him feel hot and flushed all over. He gets up with a smile, smoothing out his clothes before holding a hand out towards him. Cross takes it with minimal encouragement, savouring the cool feeling of Dream’s boney palm against his.

“Come along, Cross,” Dream says, and he follows.

They head back inside within moments. The mood is completely changed when Dream enters. The noise dims, and people rise from their seats, bowing and murmuring greetings underbreath. Cross is surprised by the way Dream pauses to return the greetings—every single one of them. He thanks them by name, asking after their families as well, and Cross finds himself acutely impressed by Dream’s memory and grace. To remember every individual here is a kind of gentleness and altruism he doesn’t often see in high society.

A few of them cast curious glances his way, but their gazes are far more arrested by Dream. It’s a relief, honestly, to be given some breathing space after his little panic attack earlier. He must’ve been more at his wits’ end than he’d realised to have fallen apart so quickly, and he’s grateful that Dream was there to steady him.

They head up the stairs together, hands still clasped. Only when they reach the landing does Dream stop, a cute frown on his face as he stares at the closed doors around them.

“Looking for someone?”

Even before turning around, Cross knows it must be Dream’s twin. The voice he hears is just as melodious, though it’s pitched differently, as if in complement to Dream’s. To hear them speak together must be a harmonious thing.

“Brother,” Dream smiles, beaming as he spins around and confirms Cross’ guess. Dream lets go of his hand at last, throwing his arms around a skeleton the same height as him. Dream’s brother wraps his arms around his waist, a soft smile of his own playing about his mouth.

Cross can’t help but stare.

They look so different from each other, and yet there is no denying that they are twins. While Dream’s brother has a softer, subtler look to him, all dark, deep colours and quiet voice, the shapes of their faces and the curves of their features are the same. Dream’s twin is dressed in a shirt similar to Dream’s own, though his is dyed in an expensive shade of rich purple and embroidered with golden thread along the cuffs of his long sleeves. Cross gawks at him for a bit too long, his gaze trailing all the way down over his form before snapping up again to see a pair of discerning violet eyes watching him.

He blushes.

“And who might this be?” Dream’s brother asks.

Cross straightens in place as he waits for Dream to introduce him.

Dream doesn’t.

The seconds pass in an awkward silence that feels far longer to Cross than it probably is. His face grows hotter, a slow sweat breaking out over the back of his neck. Dream turns in his brother’s embrace to look at him curiously, a soft smile on his face. Still, he doesn’t speak.

“May I have your name, stranger?”

The phrasing of the question is strikingly similar to how Dream asked him earlier. Cross feels a little ungrounded by it, weirdly unnerved, but he shakes the feeling off.

“Cross,” he answers and then waits half a second before tipping his head down in a bow.

Dream’s brother laughs, and it’s just as bewitching as Dream’s was.

“Oh no, there’s no need for that, Cross. You’re our guest. No formalities, please.”

Cross raises his head, and the skeleton smiles at him, sockets half-lidded. He takes a step forward, extending his hand, and by now at least, Cross has gathered himself enough to shake it without stumbling over it like he had with Dream.

“Call me Nightmare,” he says, “And I apologise if our behaviour here was a little forward. I tried to tell my brother to give you some space, but it’s not often we get skeleton visitors in our town. He was excited and insisted we take care of you. I found myself hard-pressed to deny him.”

The way Nightmare looks down at Dream is undeniably fond. Dream squeezes his brother’s hand, sticking his tongue out playfully. It’s unbearably cute, but at the same time Cross is left feeling like he’s witnessing something private and not meant for him. His face feels hot.

Nightmare doesn’t seem to notice, continuing on. “I can see now that in doing so we’ve unsettled you. Perhaps I should’ve stressed my point more.”

“Ah, it’s no trouble at all, truly.” Cross holds his hands up, shaking his head. “I was just tired from all the travel and, to be honest, I’ve had a rough time of it even before leaving home, so it’s possible that my prior experiences have made me a touch… paranoid. It doesn’t reflect on you in the slightest, I swear.”

Dream looks up at him, expression mournful. It makes Cross’ soul twist up and ache. “Still, I apologise, Cross. It was not my intention to put you so on edge.”

“Really, it’s fine! In fact, if it weren’t for your healing earlier, I might have fainted from exhaustion right there.”

“Yes, my brother _is_ rather talented with his magic.” Nightmare’s expression is partway amused, and he looks at Dream who simply beams at him. Nightmare shakes his head and laughs, the sound of it cool and soothing over his soul like the ocean at midnight. He looks back at Cross with his head tilted thoughtfully, regal even in his posture.

“While I am excited to converse with you further, perhaps you ought to rest for tonight? It wouldn’t do to overwhelm you when you’re just now grounding yourself again.”

Despite himself, Cross doesn’t want either of them to leave just yet. He’s tired and aching, genuinely exhausted in both mind _and_ body but… being around the twins feels good. It feels like he could run a marathon, just to impress them. And isn’t _that_ an embarrassing thought. He’s never considered himself a lovestruck fool, but it’s becoming readily apparent that maybe it just takes the right monster—or two—to make him fall all over himself to please.

“Yes, Cross.” Dream agrees with his brother. “You should get some sleep. We’ll meet with you tomorrow.”

Nightmare nods. “If you’re amenable to it of course. No pressure.”

Their kindness fills Cross with deep gratitude. He didn’t anticipate feeling so worn out from his journey, but the reality is that he aches for sleep. Knowing that choosing to retire for the night won’t ruin his chances of seeing them tomorrow is a relief.

“Then, by your leave, I’ll turn in for now.”

Once again, he ducks his head in deference to the two of them. This time, Nightmare doesn’t stop him, simply acknowledging him with a tip of his own head in return. He steps aside and gestures towards the door behind him, and Cross gratefully makes his way to the offered space. It’s as he turns the knob that Dream calls out to him one last time.

“Wait for us during breakfast, Cross,” he says, twining his arm around his brother’s as he does so. “Sleep well.”

Nightmare reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. Cross tries his best not to flush under the feel of it. He figures Nightmare must be a healer too because from only his touch alone he feels the anxiety and restlessness being drained out of him. The other monster must be able to tell as much, a faint smile curving along his mouth as Cross relaxes.

“Have pleasant dreams. We’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, they turn away from him and start their way down the stairs.

Cross watches them go until he can see them no longer before he turns and enters the room they secured for him.

His sockets widen.

It’s a lavish thing for an establishment so small in a village so secluded from the larger, richer trade cities miles from here. There’s a large bed with crisp linens and an intricately quilted blanket in the center of the room. There are two small, wooden tables to either side of it, carved with delicate sun and moon patterns, run through with vines and flowers that Cross doesn’t know the name of. On top of each rests a lantern, casting the room in a warm, orange glow. The furniture is all lacquered, including the small study table in the corner, upon which rests a basket of fruits.

He walks over to it, slowly peeling off his thick cape and heavy outer robes as he does. He hangs them off his arm, leaning in to inspect the fruit basket. He’s surprised to see that it consists only of apples.

Cross picks one up in hand, squeezing it to feel the firmness. It’s bright red and feels fresh. Cross can almost imagine the juiciness of it if he were to bite in. He tosses it up in the air and catches it again, enjoying the sound it makes.

It’s tempting, but somehow, even after all the traveling and the anxious excitement from earlier, he’s not particularly hungry. Cross chalks it up to the dual healing from the twins. He chuckles to himself as he puts the apple back and finishes disrobing, amusing himself with the idea of being full on magical healing alone.

He places his clothing over a chair and then turns off the lanterns as he gets into bed. The sheets feel comforting against his tired bones. It’s the perfect sort of atmosphere to lull him to sleep, but Cross can’t rest when images of the twins still flash in his head. He’s never met anyone quite so beguiling, in both their words and their appearance. The two of them were so close, firmly attached to each other as they spoke to him, hand in hand.

Cross’ face flushes as his thoughts drift.

The twins whispering to each other, eyeing him over with interest. Their laughter pealing through the air, soft and bright in turns. Their breath along either side of him, all with Cross pinned in between them. Their chests warm, and their arms reaching for each other around him as they climb on top, shift underneath, and touch whatever they can get their hands on.

He shivers, body heating up.

He runs a hand down his face, laughing to himself— _at_ himself—embarrassed and exasperated at his reaction even without anyone here to judge him.

Cross sighs.

He reaches a hand down to his sleep shorts, easily working them out of the way. He puts his free hand over his eyes, like blocking his vision will make this less ridiculously shameful. It takes no time at all for his magic to form in his hand, hard and wanting. Cross blushes all the way down to his sternum as he gives himself a first, tentative stroke.

It’s a long time before thoughts of the twins leave him and longer still before Cross finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is when we get to the real awful bits ✨
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> **SPOILERS** This fic will center around Cross and Killer running away from Nightmare and Dream. The twins are manipulative and terrible, forcing an unwanted pregnancy on Cross and keeping him bonded to them through fae magic. There will be multiple instances of coercion throughout the fic, not all sexual, but present for many interactions between them. Although any occurrence of intercourse between Cross and the twins will technically be consented to by him, the heavy manipulation tactics used by the twins make it dubious at the very best. As for the pregnancy, it is entirely done without Cross' knowledge or agreement. **What is especially important to know about all of this, is that this fic is geared to end in KillerCreamMare. This means that Cross will eventually end up in a proper, equal, relationship with two people who previously abused him.**
> 
> Please note that this is far, far _**(FAR)**_ into the future after a LOT of character development, growth and progression. We will be doing our best to handle the matter with proper diligence, but we think it's important to know this right from the get-go so that anyone who feels that this sort of narrative is harmful (or distasteful) for them can easily avoid it. 
> 
> Stay safe, everyone. 💖


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